


I'm not calling you a ghost

by elletromil



Series: To fall at your feet [1]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Fix-It, Harry Lives, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 10:28:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3566333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elletromil/pseuds/elletromil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He closes his eyes for a few seconds, before opening them again. Hun. Still there. He must be on the really good drugs.</p><p>In the chair besides his bed, Harry Hart is sitting reading what must be a report, a little frown that only accentuates the scar on the left side of his forehead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm not calling you a ghost

**Author's Note:**

> So I saw that headcanon http://the-staged-inadequacy.tumblr.com/post/113746644687 yesterday and could not resist turning it into a fic and here's the result.
> 
> The title is from Florence and the machine's song I'm not calling you a liar, because while I was writing I listened to the song non-stop and found it was fitting.

Eggsy wakes up in an infirmary bed, not really feeling a thing. When he tries to move around he can’t and there’s only numbness in his limbs.

He vaguely remembers an explosion and he guesses he must have been knocked around pretty hard. At least Kingsman doctors and nurses aren’t cheap and they don’t skimp on the drugs when an agent needs it.

Eggsy doesn’t really like the groggy feeling, but here at HQ infirmary, he’s learned it’s okay to let his guard down and let himself recuperate. Someone always has his back.

He turns his head slowly and would have gasp, if it didn’t require more energy than he currently has. As it is, he only closes his eyes for a few seconds, before opening them again. Hun. Still there. He must be on the _really_ good drugs.

In the chair besides his bed, Harry Hart is sitting reading what must be a report, a little frown that only accentuates the scar on the left side of his forehead. It’s not in the same spot as the last time he dreamt of Harry, but then, this element is never consistent. The eye patch is a new thing though and Eggsy wonders from where his imagination has summoned it up. Probably that pirates movie he went watching with Roxy the last time they had a day off at the same time.

Not that he really cares. It might be a hallucination, but it’s kind of a nice one. He’ll take advantage of it as long as he’s able too.

He goes back to sleep a little while later, still drinking in the sight of his dead mentor’s ghost.

*

The next time he wakes up, it’s to the head nurse changing is IV bag and Harry’s illusion is nowhere in sight. He tries not to feel disappointed, but it’s hard.

When the nurse, a middle-age man that goes by the codename Gaius, notices his opened eyes, he immediately launches in an explanation of all his injuries and why it would be a bad idea to even think of leaving the infirmary bed with a pointed look. Eggsy grins sheepishly, but nods in agreement. It should have felt insulting to be treated like a child, but since it is the way Gaius treated everyone and it is plain for all to see that he does care about all of his patients, Eggsy only suffers the lecture good-naturedly.

And it feels good, after the man finally thinks Eggsy has been pre-emptively chastised enough, when the frown turns into a warm smile. “Welcome back Galahad.”

He closes his eyes to let Gaius finish his work undisturbed and only opens them again a short moment after he hears the door to his room closing.

He nearly startles when he sees Harry’s ghost back onto the chair. Then he remembers Gaius had changed his IV and simply deduces that he’s back on the good drugs.

” _Eggsy_ …” There is only plain relief in the voice and Eggsy does himself violence in order to not react. The thing with dreams and illusions is that the moment you tried to interact with them, they would slipped through your fingers, and it is the last thing Eggsy currently wants. Maybe he shouldn’t, but he’s in the infirmary and he’s supposed to rest. He can indulge himself a bit, let the hallucination play out.

At his lack of reaction, something Eggsy can’t identify passes on the ghost’s face, but it’s gone as soon as it had appeared.

"I’m so sorry it took me so long to come back. But I’m immensely proud at the way you took care of the situation. I couldn’t have done better." It’s difficult not to react to this, but he keeps reminding himself that these are just words coming from the depths of his own mind. Not that he has any doubts that Harry would have apologize if he had ever been given the chance. But this still isn’t truly Harry speaking, so he can let himself bask into the attention, however unreal it is, without answering. "I couldn’t have hope for a better Galahad than you."

Harry waits a bit, a little hopeful gleam in his eyes, until he sighs dejectedly at Eggsy’s lack of reaction.

"We’ll talk more once you’ve rested properly."

He very nearly breaks his silence at that, because he doesn’t want the ghost to stop talking, but he feels drowsy from the drugs, his eyelids already drooping low. He’s a bit disappointed not getting to fall asleep to the sound of the gentle voice, but he’ll settle for the illusion of a hand settling on top of his.

He doesn’t turn his hand to grasp Harry’s, even if he desperately wants to do so, because he knows that closing his fingers around empty air would just be devastating and he merely wants to pretend for a little while longer that the warmth he feels on his skin is real.

*

Eggsy spends the next few days either sleeping, talking with Roxy before she leaves for a mission and staring at a ghost.

Harry hasn’t said anything else, only stays sitting in the uncomfortable chair, reading what looks like reports or tapping on his tablet. He keeps throwing little glances at Eggsy as though he’s evaluating something. Maybe to see if he’s lost his blank look.

But he hasn’t.

He can’t.

He knows he should be saying something to someone about his continuing hallucination, because he can’t attribute Harry to the drugs anymore. He’s off the really good ones which mean he’s simply out of his mind.

And he will, he really will, as soon as they start talking about discharging him, which they won’t risk right now because of his bruised ribs. Because he needs to be reliable to do his job and unfortunately craziness doesn’t really go hand to hand with it.

But right now, he’s not hurting anyone by indulging himself.

Indulging in the fantasy that Harry Hart is alive and proud of him, that he cares enough about the boy to come sit with him anytime he can. He only wishes he wasn’t so afraid that talking aloud in an otherwise empty room would bring attention to the fact he’s now crazy. Wishes he could indulge in the pretense of a conversation.

But he can’t, not if he wants to keep being haunted for as long as he can.

So he continues staring blankly at Harry, trying to burn into his memory every little detail before he loses his battle against sleep and his eyes close by themselves.

Sometimes he’s lucky though. Sometimes when he can’t keep his eyes open anymore, but he’s still just on the verge of actual sleep he can practically feel a hand gently playing in his hair.

*

Merlin strode into the room a while ago to tell him the good news of his soon-to-be release. He’s currently telling all the thing he will do and not do if he doesn’t want to be dragged back into the infirmary and Eggsy should probably listen more attentively but his gaze is always going back to Harry’s form standing beside the door.

It’s the first time he sees him when he’s not alone and he knows he can’t keep delaying revealing the fact he’s going crazy any longer.

“So at the end of the week, you should be back at home for a little break.”

“Do you think it would be possible to go on a walk in the gardens in the meantime?” Harry asks and this is it, he needs to tell Merlin now. Except that, before he can open his mouth, Merlin answers.

“Well Eggsy would need to be in a wheelchair, but that can be arranged.”

It takes him a moment to comprehend that Merlin has answered _Harry_. Harry who isn’t really there. Harry who’s been dead for a few months already. Harry, the hallucination he keeps having since he woke up a couple of week ago. But it cannot be a hallucination if Merlin just answered him. Merlin isn’t crazy.

“What, wait, what, you mean you can see him too?” He blurts out before he can stop himself. And if he wasn’t really crazy before now he must be so. Because Harry is dead, he cannot possibly be alive right in this room, with him. That’s not possible.

He barely gets to watch Merlin confusion morph into sad comprehension, before he’s cradled safely into Harry’s arm and he cannot be possibly imagining this. Cannot be imagining Harry’s strong arms around him, so mindful of his bruised ribs, cannot be imagining the smell of him, the metallic undertone of it, cannot be imagining his _heat_ , because he has nothing to base those on, he’s never been close enough to Harry.

He tries speaking, tries telling him that no, no, it’s not possible, he can’t possibly be there, why is he there, he was dead, he saw it, but his voice is stuck.

“Oh _Eggsy_ …” Harry’s voice breaks on his name and Eggsy sobs and finally, finally he reaches for Harry’s shirt and grabs at it with as much force as he can muster. His fingers close around clothing and when he sags in relief, his forehead presses into Harry’s shoulder just where it meets his neck.

He’s grossly sobbing by now and he would be embarrassed, but Harry is _here_. He’s here and he’s just holding him and repeating over and over again the same three little words.

“ _I am here_.”

*

Eggsy wakes up in an empty room with one of the worst headache he's ever had.

He looks around, not quite believing he’s truly alone. He bites down on a sob when he can’t see anyone.

He must have had a complete breakdown in front of Merlin and he’s just glad he wasn’t deemed dangerous enough to warrant being tied down on the bed. He can see a lot of therapy sessions in his future and he is fine with it, but he wishes he could have kept his illusion a bit longer.

He’s busy wallowing pathetically in self-pity when Harry enters the room JB in his arms.

The dog lets out a happy little yelp at seeing his master and Harry carefully puts him on the bed.

“I thought that if we were to go in the gardens it would be nice to take JB with us.”

And he cannot be hallucinating this because Merlin’s the one dog-sitting JB and Eggsy knows Merlin would never let the dog out of his sight because he takes dog-sitting so seriously it would be funny except it’s not.

“You’re really there.”

Harry sits down on the bed, careful not to jostle him. “I _am_ sorry Eggsy. At first I wanted to let you rest and then I thought you were angry and that we would talk when you were ready. Had I thought for a second that you were doubting your sanity…” the sentence trails off, guilty eyes meeting his.

And they do need to talk about it, need a serious conversation, because Harry was _dead_ and he might not be crazy but he’s far from being _fine_.

And they will.

But not today.

Today, he just wants to bask into the knowledge that Harry Hart somehow managed surviving getting shot in the head and that somehow he’s proud of him and what he’s done.

So he reaches out to take Harry’s hand in his, Harry turning his hand around so their fingers are interlacing.

Eggsy grins unashamedly, his cheek bright red when, after a moment passed lost into each other eyes, Harry raises their clasped hands so he can presses a gentle kiss on his knuckles.

He’s still far from being fine. But he’ll get there.


End file.
